


Charmed Life

by Altariel



Series: The Rangers of Ithilien [6]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altariel/pseuds/Altariel
Summary: After the death of Boromir, Faramir returns to Henneth Annun.
Series: The Rangers of Ithilien [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/10988
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19





	Charmed Life

**Charmed Life**

“Faramir is Captain. He leads now in all perilous ventures. But his life is charmed, or fate spares him for some other end.” Mablung, ‘Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit’, _The Two Towers_

* * *

_Henneth Annûn, 5 th March 3019_

The Captain was back among them at last, after too long away. Or the Captain-General, as Mablung supposed they should say now… No. The Captain it was, and always would be. Here he was, explaining to the company the purpose of his return and their mission to prevent a regiment of Southrons from passing through Ithilien to the Morannon. Just like old times.

“One final point,” said the Captain. “Afterwards, I shall send what’s left of the company to strengthen the garrison at Osgiliath. We are… unlikely to return here.” He paused to let the full meaning of that sink in. Ithilien was lost. The end was coming. A murmur passed around the room. Calmly, the Captain said, “Make sure you leave nothing that matters behind.” He looked round steadily. “Any questions? Comments?”

A voice from near the back called out, “We’re all sorry about your brother, Captain.”

There was a general rumble of agreement. Mablung, close enough to see the Captain’s jaw tighten, made ready to intervene, but: “Thank you,” said the Captain, and smiled round. “Thank you all.”

He didn’t hang around, though, and went straight off to his private space, behind the cover of the curtain. “Well, what are you all standing around for?” said Mablung. “Look lively.”

* * *

Mablung left it a while, then went to stand just outside the curtain. “Sir?”

He heard the quiet rustle of movement within. “Come in.”

The Captain was lying on the bed, book in hand, of course. Wide awake, and likely to remain that way for some time. Mablung leaned against the wall and looked around the little space. The Captain hadn’t obeyed his own injunction to pack. Three or four books on the shelf above the desk. A game set out on the tiny chess board – but that had been there for months. Tin mirror; razor. The little lamp, casting enough light to read by.

“Something the matter, Mablung?”

“No…”

“Something you needed?”

“Not particularly.”

“Ah.” The Captain gave a dry smile. “I see.”

“Not seen you for a while, that’s all… So… what’s the book, sir?”

Hopeless. He’d never asked him about his reading before. The Captain held up the volume. “Mardil’s account of the last days of Eärnur, and after.”

“Mardil.” Mablung nodded as if he had the faintest clue. “Remind me again which one that was.”

The Captain eyed him narrowly. “He was the first ruling steward.”

“And Eärnur?”

“He was the last king… Mablung, do you really not know this already?”

“There’s a lot of names, sir! They get muddled. First ruling steward, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And your father?”

“The twenty-sixth.”

And Boromir had been his heir, and the Captain had been the spare. Imagine living your life like that. Mablung pondered the Captain’s expression. Closed. Shuttered. Ah well, surely worth a try. “I should guess, sir, that you never thought you might one day be Steward.”

The Captain started flicking through the pages. “I very much doubt I shall. Although it’s all a matter of timing, I suppose. Which one of us will they kill first? It’s true I’m more likely to be in range than Father… Or perhaps they’ll keep us both alive for a while. Torment us in some fashion… It’s hard to say. I admit I find it difficult to enter the mind of the Enemy, and in general I prefer not to.”

Well, he had asked. After thirteen years, brutal honesty. They must be doomed. What else might come out, with a little prodding? Mablung got the chair from by the desk, put it beside the bed, and sat down. Stretched out his legs, and folded his arms. “Go on, then. Tell me about Mardil.”

The Captain gave him a look that said: _I know what you’re doing._ “Don’t you have a bed to go to?”

“Why do you think I’ve asked for a history lesson? The new lads, they used to come to me sometimes: _Can’t sleep, sir_. Well, I’d say, go and ask the Captain for a history lesson.”

The Captain sighed. “Very well… When Eärnur became king of Gondor, the Witch-king challenged him to single combat. The Steward, Mardil, advised against, but Eärnur took up the challenge. Left the crown on his father’s tomb and rode out to Minas Morgul. He was never seen again. One hopes he died in battle, but perhaps he was a prisoner for a while... He had no heirs, so the Stewards became the Ruling Stewards, and swore to rule until the King returned… Is any of this familiar?” 

“It’s ringing a few bells. But—”

“But what?”

“Well, couldn’t you read something more cheerful?” He jerked his thumb at the shelf behind him. “Is there nothing up there that’s funny?”

“Funny?”

“Aye! Oh, I don’t know.” Mablung pointed at the book. “This kind of thing though, sir. It can’t help. It can’t give you any relief.”

“Maybe not. But I have no real need for the books to be funny, Mablung.”

“No?”

“Not with the Ithilien company on hand.”

Aye, well, they’d tried their best to keep him cheerful.

“Did you know,” the Captain said, conversationally, “that historically the Rangers were not directly answerable to the King? They were the private guard of the Lord of Emyn Arnen, and under the command of his heir, Lord Cormallen.”

“Oh aye? And who is the Lord of Emyn Arnen?”

“My father. It’s the hereditary title of the House of Húrin.”

“Doesn’t that make you—”

“Lord Cormallen, yes. The heir to the Lord of Emyn Arnen. You are, according to ancient tradition, finally and indisputably mine to my command. I mean, now that Boromir—” His voice finally cracked. “Now that Boromir is dead…”

Mablung gave him a moment. The Captain wiped his hand across his eyes, and then examined the cover of the book. “Well. There it is.”

“You know,” Mablung said, softly, “we always were, sir.”

“Always were what?”

“Yours to command. Right from the very beginning.” Mablung thought about this. “Well, there was a month or two at the start when we all thought you were a prick.”

Mablung wasn’t holding out hope that he’d get a laugh – and he didn’t. Instead the Captain gave that rare and vivid smile that lit up his entire face. Showed you the kind of man you were serving. Made it clear that man was still there. Seeing that smile, Mablung was heartened. Yes, this was their Captain, even after everything.

“Lieutenant,” said the Captain, “you are an insubordinate bastard.”

“Aye, sir, but I’m your insubordinate bastard.”

And he would be until the end – whatever that end might be.

* * *

_Altariel, 6 th January 2020_


End file.
